


Half A Person

by Eli (AisukuriMuStudio)



Series: Femslash February 2019 (FE:A Edition) [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Endgame, F/F, Female My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Femslash, Femslash February 2019, Marriage Proposal, References to Depression, Romance, S-Support (Fire Emblem), Self-Esteem Issues, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-19 23:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17611550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AisukuriMuStudio/pseuds/Eli
Summary: You would think that with the battle with Grima coming to a head, Robin would think of nothing else. Instead, she dreams of her life after.Happy Femslash February!





	Half A Person

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER WARNING! If you have not reached Chapters 24-25 (depending on how sharp you are on what you learn in 24) then you probably shouldn't read this, because that's when this takes place. On the other hand, if you want to spoil yourself, go ahead.
> 
> This is part of a series that I and my wonderful fiancee (KrisseyCrystal on this account) are doing for Femslash February. We've each selected a few Fire Emblem: Awakening f/f ships, one for each week. We hope you like them! :)
> 
> Were you upset by Flavia's supports with F!Robin? Me too! So in this one she actually, completely means it in a gay way. This pretty much references the B-support, and we're ignoring the A. 
> 
> While writing this I forgot exactly where it’s said that Robin might have to die to kill Grima. I thought it was in 24, it’s not, it’s in 25, which immediately transitions into Endgame. So… for the sake of my sanity, please assume there’s a night between 25 and Endgame.

Robin finds herself distracted as of late, which is infuriating and inconvenient. Grima has risen from her slumber, which means that Robin needs to be focused now more than ever before. If they lose even a single battle, the results will be lethal — not just for them, but for the entire world. There is no time to daydream about life _after._

And yet.

“Robin, we’ve read this one twice already,” Sumia says with a giggle when Robin presents another title to their two-person book club.

“You haven’t been quite as effective as you usually are,” Virion murmurs with a note of concern as he seals his third victory of the evening.

 _“Focus,”_ Lon’qu hisses, worry crossing into anger as another hit with his blunt wooden sword made it past Robin’s guard, sure to bruise her ribs.

_And yet._

“Robin.”

“I _know,_ I _know!”_ Robin snaps, fist slamming against the table. The figures atop it jump from the force of the impact, and she winces, immediately nursing her aching hand. “Damn it all. Forgive me, Chrom.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Chrom assures, though a furrow to his brow betrays his concern. “What in the world is going on with you? You have been so distraught recently.”

She hesitates.

“Uh,” Chrom blinks. “Uh, that is to say — not that Grima’s menacing figure wouldn’t make anyone distraught. Certainly, I think most of us are. These are dark times we live in, even with the power of Naga on our side.”

Robin waves a hand, sighing. “No, you’re right. It… That isn’t what’s been weighing on my mind.” A beat. “Well, of course, it _has,_  but you understand, I try to push that to the back of my mind whenever possible; it’s incredibly difficult to develop a strategy with that sort of thing looming over you… Anyway, no, that isn’t what has me distracted.”

Chrom nods, slow and unsure. “And… if I might ask. We are close, I like to think. What is it that troubles you?”

Is ‘troubles’ even the right word for this, Robin wonders?

“Um.” She inhales deeply as she tries to get her bearings. Where in the world does she even _begin,_  she wonders?

“I know I have no business considering a life after the war,” Robin begins. “Considering everything Naga spoke about… I may not have one.”

Chrom sobers, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “Robin, if you think I’ll allow you to sacrifice yourself—”

“It may be the only option.”

“Do you have a _death wish?_ ” Chrom snaps, a scowl spreading across his face. Heh, you can get a glimpse of what Chrom might have looked in Lucina’s time, had he survived. Frown lines galore. “First you ‘decide’ to allow Lucina to kill you, on the _off chance_ that that might _somehow_ save me, and now—”

“Sometimes, Chrom, you cannot have your cake and eat it, too.” Even Robin is surprised by the lack of heat in her voice, by the lack of anger. Chrom is clearly upset, but she can’t find it in her to rise and bite back. This is the pragmatist in her speaking, the realist, the tactician. Not the optimist. Between the two of them, that had always been Chrom’s role. “Naga sees only this: either Grima is slain by my hand and we both perish, or you and I simply put Grima to rest until the next fool resurrects her. But who knows if such a scenario might ever happen again? Will we be able to live with ourselves if we allow Grima to survive?”

And that aside, Robin is only half a person. Her life began when she awoke in that field, when Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick stumbled upon her. It is only logical that, regardless of her own desires or memories, that she would die in service to something greater. To someone.

Chrom looks away, his fists clenching on the table. He looks as if he wants to punch it as solidly as Robin did. “We will find another way,” he insists.

Robin knows they won’t. Chrom can be extraordinarily stubborn when he thinks he is in the right, regardless of what his _tactician_ says.

“Anyway,” she says, clearing her throat. “I… do hate to push this aside, I know this is an important topic, but… this really isn’t what I meant to talk about.”

Chrom’s features soften, and his hands relax. He smooths out whatever nonexistent wrinkles he put it in the board. “Go ahead,” he encourages, meeting her eyes again.

Chrom made his wife a very lucky woman, Robin can’t help but think. She’s far from envious, but she knows he’s a fine man in moments like this, where his kindness and empathy overtake whatever misgivings he might have.

“As I was saying, I know that I _may not_ have a life after Grima.” She puts emphasis on the words this time, and to her relief, Chrom does not protest; he tenses, but makes no move to interrupt. “And in order to… to ease any regrets, I’ve been desperately trying not to consider anything of the sort. But recently I’ve been doing just that.”

“You have?” There is _relief_ in Chrom’s voice, and Robin doesn’t quite know what to do with that. “That’s good. Is that what’s been distracting you? You’re occupied by thoughts of after?”

“Sort of,” Robin says, and she gives a short laugh. Chrom cracks a small smile and nods, encouraging her. “You see, I was speaking to Flavia, and she invited me to Regna Ferox.”

Chrom’s expression doesn’t change. In fact, he says nothing, until it becomes clear to him that she’s awaiting a response. He raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“I—” Robin blinks. _“Chrom._ That means I would leave your service. I wouldn’t return to Ylisse and continue to serve as your tactician.” She’d assumed that was the default plan; that Chrom would be interested in continuing to employ her. Had she been wrong?

Chrom shrugs. “You’re right, but I don’t see the problem. This is your decision to make, Robin. It’s _your_ life.” His arms fold across his chest as he leans back, and Robin realizes he almost seems like he’s _enjoying_ this conversation. Then again, it is perhaps a mite bit brighter than most of their other ones, given the state of the world. “Is she offering you a position?”

“I… yes.” She can feel her face warming as she remembers the multitude of other things Flavia said. “But… she is offering much more than that.”

Silence. Chrom’s brow furrows as he watches her, as he searches her gaze, and Robin realizes a beat before Chrom speaks that she was too vague. “Which is… what, exactly?”

For the love of… “Chrom.” Robin sighs. “Flavia confessed her love to me. Explicitly. Actually, I think it may have been a marriage proposal, because she asked if I would join the royal family.”

“She _what?”_

She even said something about how gender didn’t matter to her, Robin wants to add. Not that that probably makes much of a difference to Chrom. “And I… is it odd, that I may be truly considering it?”

Her voice almost breaks, and she doesn’t quite know why she says it. Why she says this like _this._

But with Flavia, happiness seems possible. Not just contentment, not just purpose; _happiness._  Flavia is so earnest and sincere that there is no doubt that her love is real, that her words are genuine. If Robin were to be so lucky as to have a life outside of this war, and if Robin were to be so _blessed_ to be considered whole, a separate unit and not a modifier, then…

“But this is selfish of me,” she continues, before Chrom has said a word. Her gaze has found the table, fixes on one of the figures she knocked over earlier. “What cad would agree to this, knowing their death might be imminent? I would only cause her pain. Surely it would be gentler to reject her, Chrom; surely if I die, she will rest easier, knowing we wouldn’t have had anything, either way.”

A hand presses to her shoulder and she blinks, startled to realize her eyes have begun to water. She turns, and Chrom reaches up, takes her head in both her hands, as if daring her to try to look away.

“Robin.” Chrom’s voice is strong, unwavering. “Let me put your fears to rest: there is no cowardice greater than dishonesty in the face of sincere affection.”

Robin reaches up to wipe at her tears, but neither Chrom’s hands nor arms move; instead, he wicks them away with the pad of his thumb.

“If Flavia truly does love you, and you truly love her, you must embrace it. As much as I… As stubbornly as I have refused to acknowledge your death as a possibility — Robin, we all might die. We’ve been risking our lives every single day, nearly since we found you in that field. Even when we were just dealing with Gangrel. But did that stop anyone else here from finding happiness?”

“No, but—”

“It is human to seek comfort in times of great strife. You are one of the sole Shepherds who has denied yourself that comfort.” Chrom smiles, soft and fond. One hand drops as the other comes up to ruffle her hair. “You deserve it, wherever you find it. If you truly want it in Flavia, and if she is truly offering it to you, then you have no reason to deny it. No matter what happens when we battle Grima, you deserve this _now.”_

“It will devastate her if I die,” Robin says.

“Just as I would be devastated if my wife were to perish,” Chrom replies. “Just as anyone would be, if they lost their soulmate. But you should not deprive of her of the chance to mourn you as lovers do. Even if you refuse her, she will ache at your passing. We all will. You are beloved by all of us regardless.”

Robin laughs, soft, as she finally pushes Chrom’s hand away from her head. “Damn it all,” she mutters, and it is then that Chrom barks out a chortle. “Chrom, you must think me a fool, or naiveté incarnate.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Chrom replies, setting a hand on his hip. “Now, go on.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re not going to get any work done while you haven’t resolved this,” Chrom says, a grin on his face that almost makes her want to punch him. “Go find her. We’ll table this conversation for later.”

And perhaps Robin should insist they continue. Grima will not wait for them, after all; she will just consume and spread chaos and despair wherever she reigns. But…

Robin hopes it is not too selfish to delay doomsday for a night.

* * *

 

She doesn’t know why she was hoping Flavia to be alone. Flavia is about as extroverted as they come, so of course, she is spending the night training with Basilio, who is her equal in nearly every way.

Sparks fly as axe and sword crash together. Grunts and yells fill the air as the two Khans of Regna Ferox dance, and for one brilliant moment, Robin is dazzled. They shine with sweat, damp with it, muscles glimmering in the candlelight.

And Flavia is… the way she _moves_ is… She’s seen the woman fight before, but is she seeing it from a different perspective now?

 _Wait. Sparks?_ That means metal—

 _“Stop!”_ Robin calls, barging right into the spar without a second thought. “Stop this madness at once!”

To her immense surprise, both of them obey immediately. They turn to her, chests heaving as they try to get their breaths back — how long have they been at this? — and both of them burst into huge grins.

“Robin!” they cry in unison, laughing.

“Don’t you _‘Robin’_ me,” Robin snaps. “You two were sparring with _real weapons!_ I can scarcely believe you’d risk real injuries during practice! Where are the wooden ones?”

“Come now, Robin,” Flavia says with another glorious laugh. It is breathless, and adrenaline-high, and Robin very much ignores the way it makes her blood sing. “We haven’t managed so much as a scratch on the other yet! Besides, there are healers here.”

“Present?” Robin scowls. “Here? Currently? Where?”

Basilio guffaws, loud and boisterous, and he waves a hand. “I think I’ll leave the two of you lovebirds at it,” he says, with such nonchalance that Robin finds herself stunned once again. “Thanks for the match, Flavia. Shame it didn’t last long enough for you to lose.”

“You know as well as I do that I had you on the back foot, you _oaf,”_ Flavia calls after him.

Basilio is gone in just a moment, leaving only Flavia and Robin in the ring. It is late enough at night that the place is deserted, most of their company either standing on night shift or dead asleep. Flavia’s breathing takes yet another moment to return to her, but her eyes stay on Robin, and Robin can’t remove her eyes from her.

“So,” Flavia says at long last, as she sheathes her sword in the dirt below. “You’ve sought me out, tactician. Should I assume that you bring with you an answer to my proposition, or do you need more time?”

“I… no.” Robin clears her throat. “Uh, no, Flavia, I don’t need more time. I have an answer for you.”

“You do?” Flavia’s tone is oddly careful, neutral, and though she smiles, it is not the great smirk she usually bears. “I am all ears, little fawn.”

“My ans— my — did you just call me—” No. Robin pushes her head into her hand and takes one deep, deep inhale, and she decidedly ignores the way Flavia winks at her. She’s teasing, but _damn,_  does it make it hard to focus. When her hands pull away, she meets the Khan’s eyes, even and sure.

“Yes.”

Flavia’s eyes alight, mirth shining. “Yes to what?”

“To your ‘proposition,’ of course.”

“My darling, I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.” Flavia has abandoned the sword, moving in. She stands nearly a head taller than Robin. Though Robin isn’t against the wall, Flavia crowds her, and Robin finds herself unable to move, unable to avert her eyes, breathless, floating on air. “Will you be my tactician?”

Her hands caress Robin’s cheeks, reverent, wholly different from the way Chrom did less than half an hour before; her touch is firm, gentle, unyielding. It is far more than friendly. Robin knows it’s impossible, yet it seems her lungs truly have stopped working.

“Will you be my wife?”

The pad of her thumb swipes across Robin’s lower lip. Her heart stops beating.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, Flavia. I’ll take all of it, if you’ll have me.”

Flavia’s smile stretches big and wide across that gorgeous face. “Why, when you say it so prettily, how in the world is a woman to refuse you?”

And Robin doesn’t need to form a reply, because Flavia’s lips are pressed to hers, and Robin forgets the world. She forgets Grima and Naga and Validar; she forgets the possibly horrific, apocalyptic future; she forgets all of the advice Chrom just gave her. Nothing matters but this moment, this small blip on the timeline, as her fingers thread behind Flavia’s neck and pull her in closer. She still smells of sweat, but it isn’t unpleasant.

Flavia’s lips are so soft, Robin would lay in them forever if she could.

A chuckle breaks the moment, and Robin opens her eyes as the world returns to her in a rush. Flavia’s smile is big and bright, like the light of a full moon. “You know,” Flavia says, and her voice is kept low. Though they are already alone, this one piece makes this scene feel that much more intimate. “I thought you would be much more difficult to snare. You’ve refused everyone else that wished for your hand.”

“They were all men,” Robin replies, and Flavia lets out a _hoot_ of laughter. Robin’s cheeks are already burning, but that doesn’t help. “Besides, you are so… determined. You would have worn me down eventually.”

“I would never persist if you truly refused me,” Flavia says, and her voice turns serious. Her hands are resting on Robin’s hips, and Robin’s not quite sure when they got there. “But be assured that my passion for you would not be dimmed, not in a thousand years, no matter your reply; for your cunning, your diligence, your character, your beauty… all of these things are the things I adore about you, dear.”

Ah… right.

“Flavia…” Robin doesn’t know why she brings this up now. But as her fingers come to rest on the woman’s forearms, she knows that if she doesn’t, she will never bring it up. “... I am not perfect.”

“But of course, I know this,” Flavia says without missing a beat. “And neither am I. That does not matter.”

“No, I — what I mean is.” Robin doesn’t know why this is so hard to get across, but it _must_ be said. Flavia watches her, patience and kindness radiating in her concerned eyes, and Robin wonders if she deserves the happiness she so badly wants. “Flavia, I am… only half a person.”

Flavia’s face does not change. She only hums, as if curious, and she begins to rub circles into Robin’s back. “I do not understand. You seem whole to me.”

“Not literally.” Or perhaps it was indeed literal, but Robin did not have the patience to debate the semantics of it. “As far as I can remember, my life begins the moment I wake up in a field in Ylisse. That means that the majority of my life — the part that I spent as Validar’s daughter and as Grima’s intended vessel… I have none of it. And that is good, obviously; we wouldn’t stand a chance against Grima otherwise. I can only assume that the sole part of me I retained from that life was my tactical abilities.” She must not have kept her personality, or her sense of morality. It is almost as if she stole someone else’s life. “I do not have a life to give you other than what I have spent in this army. And that seems a very poor offering to someone like you.”

“Allow me to make that judgment, Robin.” Something sad crosses Flavia’s face. Robin prays, dearly, that it is not pity. But then Flavia presses her forehead against hers. “For you have, in the past three years, done more for Ylisse and for the world than many will do in their lifetimes, more than some families have done in generations.”

“That is an exaggeration—”

“I’m not done.” Flavia’s hands return to her cheeks, and she just holds her here, eye to eye, chest to chest. “You defeated King Gangrel—”

“Only in service to Prince Chrom—”

“Who used _your strategy._ Don’t downplay your advances, darling; humility is a virtue, but you carry it to a fault.”

Robin winces and tries to look down, to avert her gaze, but Flavia’s hands remain firm, unmoving, as if they were made of stone. “I said I wasn’t perfect.”

“And I said I know this,” Flavia replies evenly. “You do not need to be perfect. Just be you. That is all I ask, and I know that you and I will be eternally happy.”

 _Happy._ Was that truly something Robin could be privy to?

“Also,” Flavia continues, “you are not ‘half a person’ simply because you suffer from amnesia. That would be as if saying Emmeryn were ‘half a person’ because she was frail.”

“You’re comparing me to _Emmeryn,”_ Robin says, nearly laughing at how ridiculous the notion is. “You know, the previous Exalt, the one who was beloved by all her people?”

“You may not see it, Robin, but you are beloved by all of yours, as well.”

Flavia presses the softest of kisses to Robin’s forehead, and she blinks, startled out of a cycle of self-deprecating thoughts. “Now come,” Flavia murmurs. “Let us savor the night, shall we? Tomorrow we face Grima, but there will be time for that later.”

Oh. Robin’s face burns as she remembers. “No, I—I’m sorry, Flavia, but I completely forgot. I have some last minute tactics to hash out with Chrom.”

How long had it been now? Surely Chrom would have something to say to her. A smirk, at least, before he pretended nothing had happened.

“Then I shall join you,” Flavia replies, unswayed. “You two talk each other in circles, I’m sure. If I cannot help, at least it will be a good show.”

A good show? Robin frowns. “Is that really how the others think of us?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, it was harder writing Robin than I thought it would be. Also, I really was trying to explore Robin beneath the surface of what we get in the game. I just think that if I were in those shoes... I probably would have more than a few issues. I don't think I achieved that as eloquently as I wanted to, but I hope it came across all the same. One day I hope to more thoroughly explore Flavia as well — what does she think, as reigning Khan, of leaving her country in the hands of neither ruler? What does she think of being one of Chrom's followers, when they both stand on equal terms as the leaders of two different countries? Does Regna Ferox have a tactician, and if so, are they gonna be pissed to find out they're being replaced by Robin? 
> 
> (Also, why the hell didn't Flavia get more supports? She was robbed!)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please live a kudos and/or a comment, I really appreciate it! ❤
> 
> EDIT 2/13/19: I edited this after a reviewer over on ff dot net told me they thought this fic was Chrom/Robin/Flavia. Apologies if anyone else was confused. Chrom's wife's identity is meant to be a mystery because she isn't relevant at all in this story, you are welcome to fill in the blank with whoever you like. (Pretend it's Tharja for all I care.)


End file.
